Jack Monroe #119 She says lots of things, many of which are false

[GoLando]

View attachment 351507

From another Twitter account. This explains Jack's deleted tweet, and damn, if only!

Amazed anyone in Wolverhampton is still tweeting.

 

[CuriousCat92]

I'm in the middle of doing it now.

I remembered that we had lard at home when I was small but couldn’t remember why. But this has reminded me. It was for pastry (and greasing tins). But my mum hasn’t used it for years and she never put it near gravy (and she was a Bisto lady so she wasn’t a gravy perfectionist by any means!)

 

[waffle maker]

I thought baking spread meant marmite until these recipes. I’ve heard of stork etc, thanks for the education! Margarine!

 

[ThriftStoreLeCreuset]

Hmmm, this doesn't really meet the brief does it?
View attachment 350821

We'll be having none of that.

 

[Pixieoneeye]

Southend ain’t posh. I love Southend, but it isn’t posh at all!

Yep! Southend is a lot of things, but posh isn't one of them!
Jack, we have 2 Icelands in southend and one in Leigh. Please for all that is good and holy - use them!!

 

[Lanie]

She’s claiming a top temp of 41.5 Celsius? That’s an astronomical fever for an adult. Kids can spike really high fevers (if my kids hit 41 I’d take them straight to A&E) but extremely high temps are a lot rarer in adults IIRC.

She claims to be maintaining a temp of 40 but is happily tweeting? The last couple of times I’ve had a fever, it’s been 38 and I felt too shit to do anything other than curl up in a ball.

This is all very very suspicious.

I am the opposite. I could be knocking deaths door and still be sitting at a comfortable temp. My husband however temperature goes ridiculously high if he had so much as a cold.

 

[maytoseptember]

First - has she not heard of Iceland? Is Southend too posh for Iceland?

Southend ain’t posh. I love Southend, but it isn’t posh at all!

 

[People-huv-tae-know]

Christ I'm personally offended that a chair with some lard splattered on it is being compared to fucking Van Gogh

Yeah it's totally shit isn't it

 

[bazzam]

does anyone know how much the thirfty shades postcard victims have paid yet?

 

[Captainmouse]

I quoted, I typed, I pressed post, closed

QUOTE="Professor Slop, post: 3202720, member: 131700"]
Gravy looks like it was made from boiled onions, rancid fat, chicken stock and mandarin juice with nothing to thicken it. Oh wait, it was!
[/QUOTE]
Maybe in order to save the bugs, we should contact IACGMOOH and offer mackies slop as bush ticket trials

 

[Vroo]

Why is she re-working recipes she’s only just had published? I doubt the Daily Express own exclusive rights to a bunch of generic Christmas recipes. Is she admitting already they were shit and needed re-doing?

Pigs in blankets are so good because they’re tiny little addictive morsels. Nobody wants full-size sausages. Not everything needs changing. Also take the string off the chicken Jack.

Unfortunately we are a family of very greedy goblins who have normal small pig in blanket plus big pig in blanket too! But I use butcher bacon and chipolata, obviously doing it wrong not using eyelid sausage & (cheap wet ) bacon

 

[Eurgh]

The joke is that PP probably had her own family deported because, in spite of her ethnic background, she's a total arsehole about immigrants. YMMV on whether it's funny or not but it's not a BNP type joke!

Yes that was how I read that too. She deported her own family so couldn’t spend Christmas with them. Have seen similar jokes about Javid and it wasn’t racists making them.

 

[Walkdengirl]

I know why that miserable 'Christmas' pile of nihilism on a plate bothers some fraus.

It's the meanspirited half effort made by the ex mother in law on the day you were informed that you had to go there rather than have your own Christmas 'Because visiting family is what middleclass families do'.

You aren't allowed to give the kids all their presents to wake up with, as it's not the done thing, so they've had three each. You've been told that because you'll be eating Dinner soon, you're not to let them have anything more than toast or a bowl of cereal at 8.30am, rather than making a proper Christmas Breakfast accompanied by a Bucks Fizz or boozy coffee as he's going to be driving, so you aren't allowed either. 11.30am comes and you dutifully wrangle children into acceptable clothing when they just want to play with toys and watch Christmas movies. You drive in silence to deepest Suburbia, past houses full of giggling children and cycling lessons in the streets and parks.

Once you arrive, you notice just how little has been decorated. There's a thirty year old and dusty like a long dead Aunt decoration on the inside porch door - no putting a wreath on the outside, as somebody said once that wreath mean 'All Welcome' and nobody wants that. The Christmas Tree lights are off 'because it's not Christmas Eve any more'. It's either deathly silent or the father in law is going through his 27 CD collection of Christmas carols as performed by a synthesizer orchestra from the early 70s as per A Clockwork Orange . The dogs have been shut out in the garden and the washing still stands on an airer in the conservatory.

Three hours later, the other sibling and spouse turn up. MIL now goes into firefighting mode as there are SIX people in the house. Dinner is nearly ready, apparently, not that you can smell anything. The children are allocated a plastic table in the conservatory next to the FIL's Y fronts in case they giggle. You assemble hopefully, thinking that it can't really all be ready from the two saucepans you've seen boiling for the last hour in the kitchen. You've offered to help, but this has been turned down.

And then the plates arrive. You have one small slice of white/grey meat, skin removed. There are two pieces of slightly greasy, yellowish potato about the size of a Jersey Royal. Three strips of carrot. A piece of greying broccoli in its own puddle of cold cooking water. And about a tablespoon of chicken Oxo. That's it. You're sitting there in silence, feeling vaguely jealous of the dogs in the garden who have been given their own Turkey leg each as part of their raw feeding regime. The kids come back from the pants drying area to see where the rest of the food is. There is no more food; she's already slightly miffed that they expected more than one potato each. MIL declares that she is simply full to the brim and won't eat again today as everybody has had so much to eat already as she picks up the plates and goes to wash up, refusing your offer to help/escape from the silence, punctuated by a soundtrack you associate with beating somebody to death with a giant china phallus.

Then it's Present Time. You all have to sit down and take turns in opening the things you never wanted, including the 18 months out of date biscuits that FIL retrieved from a skip next door to his workplace. This goes on for so long that it's getting dark. But you're obliged to stay until after even the smaller shops have closed. The TV never goes on. Eventually, you leave after being offered a tablespoon of Christmas Pudding. There is no ice cream or anything the kids would have liked. Even a single cup of tea is accompanied by the instruction to use the secondhand teabag on the side as 'You can get two cups of tea from a teabag, you know'.

You take your bottle of £2 bubblebath, regifted diary and packet of biros from the Pound Shop (because middleclass families 'don't waste money on fancy presents'), get home and go back to a home that would have been warm, bright and comfortable. The food would have been joyful and filled with colour and flavour, the kids would have played and relaxed and eaten and watched a film cuddled up on the sofa in their new pyjamas whilst you finished the evening with the warm and fuzzy glow of a couple of drinks. And you think 'I am never, ever doing that again'.

Have you ever seen the Victoria wood monologue when she talks about Christmas? Very funny.

 

[Cookiecookie]

And isn’t that telling.

Ooh, ooh. I’m just imagining that thin, watery no-sauce and biting into the crunchy layers of my desert-dry lasagne. Ah, I feel better already.

I mean, sometimes you do feel better after a good spew. That's one way of doing it I guess!

 

[Fruitjack]

I came here to say exactly this! I’ve only watched the first one but I’m already fuming that they gave them free ingredients

There’s a show on Channel 4 right now called Chefs vs Corner Shop! Right up in Jack’s niche!? Or what COULD be her niche if she bothered her Mediterranean arse!

 

[Captainmouse]

how long have Aldi been in Southend?
shes probably suffering from Too many E numbers

 

[Powershower]

‘Kinell, Jack. Please stop. View attachment 351025

Come towards the light Jack, it will all be over soon (hopefully!)

 

[People-huv-tae-know]

If Jack’s food were art: https://www.nationalgalleries.org/art-and-artists/87183/fettstuhl-fat-chair

(just for clarity as I’m not sure the blurb says: the chair is covered in - you guessed it - LARD)

I am actually familiar with Joseph Beuys work. Not the Fettstuhl but he did some weird things with a dead hare and honey Jack do NOT get ideas. Hares are a protected species and sadly in decline around the UK.

 

[BananaSmith]

View attachment 349252View attachment 349254View attachment 349255View attachment 349257

Well, maybe 90%

 

[Boyo]

I once dreamt that JM was feeding me an enormous, buttered baguette and woke up immensley thirsty, which is nothing if not psychologically very interesting disturbing.

FTFY.